To catch a heart

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

I'm just someone with a secret obsession with Spuffy and the creativity to play around with it ;)

Willow checked Buffy's pulse for the seventh time. She sighed, relieved – the beat was still there. When Wesley told her he'd come right away, she caught herself looking at the door, expecting to see him there immediately – which was absurd, of course, if not impossible. With clenched hands, she got up and walked around the room, her steps following the exact same path over and over again. Five…six…seven. Check Buffy's vitals. One…two…three… The rattling noise of the mini-bar tricked her into looking at the door once. Besides that, the only time her eyes deviated from the floor or Buffy's face was when she shot a glimpse at Spike, who lay on the floor, still as —. She pressed her fingertips harder against her palms, fingernails biting deeper into her skin, and looked away, resuming her routine.

Wesley opened the door at the same moment Willow's left foot touched spot number four, which placed her facing away from him. She would remember it later, since the squeaky hinge caught her attention and she turned abruptly, losing her balance in the process.

"Willow!" If not for the millisecond delay in noticing her imminent fall, his hand would've grasped hers as he lunged forward. As it was, Wesley's shout surprised her, robbing her of the opportunity to shield herself from the fall. Her elbow hit the bed right before her face slammed against the carpet. He rushed to her side, and gently helped her to a kneeling position. There was no moan, no complaints of any sort. Her head hung low, making it difficult for him to assess the severity of the blow. "Are you okay?" She lifted her head a little, her expression remaining concealed. Her gaze was fixed on the ground. "Physically, I mean?"

Trails of tears glinted across her face as she nodded. Forgetting himself, Wesley placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips tighter. Her left cheek was red from the fall and he suspected her elbow would require tending as well. Having been hit in the face more times than he would've liked, Wesley was well acquainted with the throbbing she might be feeling. Yet her reaction to the pain spoke volumes. Disconcerted by his concern for her and scared of pushing her further away, he inquired after Buffy and Spike. Perhaps his pragmatism would be of more assistance to her than his tenderness. "Tell me what happened."

Willow opened her eyes, her gaze lowered, and blinked a new set of tears. Her lip trembled, and much like her irregular breathing her attempts to steady it were fruitless. When Wesley pulled her forward into an awkward hug, she gave up trying to hold them back. Tears and sobs freed themselves, forming a damp spot at the collar of his beige sweater. Wesley's hands ran soothingly up and down her arms as she clung to him. When her crying softened, Willow pulled back, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, so she focused on a tiny pattern on the comforter as she attempted to explain what had happened. "I fou-found —." She gulped for air. "I did a s-spell. I-I asked Hecate to return Spike's body, using Buffy's blood. She's…she's…."

"Is she dead?" The moment the word left his mouth, he cursed himself. Willow blanched, her eyes darting up to his.

"I missed a check, I need to — I'll go —"

Before she could get up, Wesley's hands were back on her arms, holding her down softly. "Shhh…I'll do it."

He stood up and walked around the bed. It was odd to see his former Slayer in such a vulnerable position. When he pressed his index and middle finger under Buffy's jaw, he almost wished she'd make a snappy remark and punch his face, but she just remained still. He waited for a reaction a little longer, before looking at his watch and counting silently. "Her pulse is a little weak," He removed his fingertips from her neck and placed the back of his hand to Buffy's forehead. "Her temperature is also low, but I believe she'll be fine. Did you stop the bleeding?"

"Spike did."

Wesley glanced at the unconscious vampire. "What happened to him?"

"He seized and then collapsed. Do you think he's —" The "D" word was still a no-go.

"Dead? No more than usual."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite so. Given the circumstances, I believe he would've dusted away otherwise."

Willow hugged her knees, whispering to herself. "I didn't kill them. They're alive. I didn't — I didn't kill them."

"I'll just —" Wanting to console her, yet unsure whether or not he should, Wesley looked around, trying to make himself useful to her. By the time Willow stopped her little reassuring mantra, Wesley was hovering over Spike's body, searching for clues as to what had happened.

"Wesley, don't!" His head snapped up in surprise, his expression puzzled. "Get away from him. I think…I think he lost his soul."

As a safety measure, Wesley backed away from the unconscious vampire and returned to Willow's side. She had sounded distraught as they spoke on the phone, but he had assumed the only ones in danger were Spike and Buffy. "Why would you think that? Did he attack you?"

"He looked like he wanted to. He was feral, and his eyes were bloodshot. Like an addict, only fanged."

He couldn't imagine what would've happened to Willow (and Buffy, of course) if Spike had remained conscious. He hardened his gaze for the first time since he entered the room, his lower lip pushed up slightly. "There must be handcuffs or rope in our weaponry chest. I'll see to it."

"Wait, you wanna handcuff him?"

"You said his behavior was primal. It's quite possible that Hecate left his soul out of the bargain. And if he's anything like Angelus —"

"He's not." Willow let out a bitter laugh. For some reason, the memory of Spike's attempt to bite her after receiving the chip came to her mind. "He's evil, but in a more feisty way."

"Even then, it's not wise to let him loose while Buffy's unconscious."

Wesley's train of thought seemed very logical. That is, if they weren't dealing with the only exception to the evil vampire + unconscious slayer = dead slayer rule. "Angel never told you how Spike got his soul, did he?"

"No, he kept Spike's soul a secret. Intentionally, I believe. Though I'm not sure why."

"Why am I not surprised?" Willow scoffed. Angel's jealousy had surfaced many times over the years, even, and especially, when he had no right to be jealous. Yet no one seemed to bring the worst in him as a certain blond vampire did. "Spike wasn't cursed with a soul, he sought one. He fell for Buffy while he was just a demon, but given our experience with Angelus, none of us considered it possible that Spike could love. It took me a while to accept it, and even now I'm not sure Buffy does or wants to. But it became hard to deny it after he got a soul to stay with her."

A crease formed between his eyebrows as Wesley reached for his glasses, forgetting he no longer wore them. "That's unprecedented."

Willow chuckled sadly. "That's an understatement." Running her hands over the uninjured side of her face, she asked. "God, what will I tell Buffy when she wakes up? 'Hey Buffy, glad you're feeling better. I broke your vampire boyfriend and took away his soul. Best wishes.'"

"Perhaps you didn't."

"What?"

Wesley approached Spike, his eyes scrunched up in equal parts distrust and scrutiny. If he had a book in hand and held a pair of glasses between his lips, Willow could've pictured Giles doing the same. Apparently, the Council's ways were hard to shake. "You mentioned he seized?"

"Yes, why?"

"I have a theory." Lifting a finger, he looked back at Willow. "It might be a long shot, but...many years ago, I read a study of a fellow member of the Council, Ivor Adkins. He studied vampiric behavior under extreme circumstances. I recall a set of reactions quite similar to the ones you described. Do you know long has it been since Spike's 'second' death?"

"Almost a month."

"What if Hecate restored his body as of the moment following his death? He would've spent this time without sleep nor —"

"Blood." Willow's eyes grew wider. "You think he's starved?"

"Like I said, it is a long shot, but —"

"No, you might be right. He didn't harm Buffy because he loves her, but when he tried to close her wounds, his face kept changing. He was surrounded by blood, so maybe he was trying to fight it?"

"I'll fetch some of Angel's pig blood."

Deep carmine, bordering on burgundy, flowing thickly down her open veins. Metallic flavored droplets melted in his saliva as the rich smell of rust overpowered him. Only a little, he told himself. A lick would do no harm. The stillness of death already plagued the room, so no one would blame him for taking a sip. His stomach rumbled in encouragement. Just a taste, he decided. Only enough to ease the writhing in his bowels. He savored the anticipation, rolling up his tongue as his eyes fluttered closed. He could hear the faint heartbeat, took it as an invitation. With each slow pump her body offered more and more blood. He carefully lifted her slit wrist, so that the height would perfectly match his kneeling position. His fingers held the inert hand. The cool skin didn't bother his lips – the temperature seemed natural. Soon her blood was pouring down his scorched throat.

Fulfillment had been an illusion - the more he took, the more his demon demanded. The writhing only became worse, so he sucked harder. He opened his eyes when her heartbeat stopped. A single glance at the purplish hued fingernails was enough to let him know that something was wrong – he remembered their formerly pinkish color. He dropped the arm as if it was on fire, his demon clawing his soul in protest. His gaze traveled up, taking in the skin's ashen shade of gray, so very faded compared to the black tank-top she was wearing. Her head had sagged forward at some point, the tight jaw keeping her blue tinted lips closed, but not pressed. Nose and cheeks looked the same as before, apart from their sickly coloring. Her passionate gaze was now reduced to glassy jade eyes, as lifeless as those of a porcelain doll. In them, he could see what he'd done.

Spike wept, running his hands over his face, her blood smudging all over. He took her gray hands into his bloody ones and bent over, kissing her cold knuckles repeatedly.

Until his lips found their way to her blood again.

Spike struggled to get away from the blood, the taste of it repulsing him. Wesley gripped Spike's arms harder to keep him in place, as Willow held a blood bag in her hand, unsure of what to do. When they first opened the bag, Spike had been completely knocked out, which allowed them to feed him a great deal of it with ease. It wasn't until half the blood had entered his system that he began to resist it. In his semi-conscious state, he spoke incoherently, words of apology and self-loathing. The recurring and most comprehensible was No.

Willow tried to calm him. "Spike, it's okay. We're here." His eyes flashed open, yellow but unfocused. She recoiled, the fear reflected in her green eyes capturing his attention – green eyes. The light brown flecks weren't there, Willow's eyes had a darker rim of brown around the pupils. Apart from that they were similar enough. Spike tried to back away from her, but Wesley restrained his movements.

"I…I…Buffy."

"She's gonna be okay. She's on the bed, right there, remember? You're starved," Willow held out a blood bag to him. "We're feeding you pig's blood. You need to eat."

"I killed her. I killed Buffy. KILL ME!"

"He's hallucinating. We're gonna need more blood." Wesley said.

"Or," The door flung open, and Angel glanced at Buffy from a distance. "We can do just as he asked."

He marched in their direction. Before either Willow or Wesley could react, Angel was next to them, his fist slamming against Spike's face. "Angel, stop!" Willow said, dropping the nearly dried blood bag to the floor. "What are you doing?"

"He did this to her. He deserves it." A second jab came, knocking Spike unconscious.

Unsatisfied, Angel prepared for a third. In an attempt to stop him, Willow got in his way. "He didn't do this to Buffy, she gave him no choice. I'm the one who came up with the spell. I performed it. If you wanna take it out on someone, I'm the one to blame."

Angel didn't budge, his anger flowing freely. Wesley set down Spike and stood up. Placing a firm hand on Angel's shoulder, he said. "Angel, a word."

When the vampire didn't respond, Wesley gripped his shoulder harder. If it was necessary to get Angel away from Willow, he would make the vampire lose his balance. Some sense must have reached Angel, because despite his pissed off expression, he got up and exited the room.

Before following him out, Wesley added. "You're not any more responsible about it than Spike is, Willow. You're an exceptional friend, and I'm convinced they're well aware of that."

Willow's answer was the tiniest of half smiles and a concerned front. As Wesley closed the door, she reached for a new blood bag and began feeding it to Spike.

Wesley left the room in search of Angel. If the vampire was sulking, which he most certainly was, his bedroom was the safest bet.

Wesley didn't knock, his disregard for etiquette a statement in itself. The vampire was pacing back and forth, cracking the knuckles of his freshly bruised hand. Wesley's pulse was racing, but luckily for Angel, he had a clear idea of what self-restraint meant. He confronted Angel through clenched teeth. "Whatever the hell were you doing? You held your fist to a girl."

Angel kept on pacing, looking at the floor. His tone was somewhat high-pitched when he answered. "I wasn't gonna hit her, Wes."

"Yeah? I'm not so convinced about that. You punched a delirious vampire that posed no threat and was in no condition of defending himself. Whatever on earth is going on with you?"

Angel didn't answer.

"Very well, sulk as you want. But I highly suggest you do so as far away from Buffy's room as possible."

Spike woke up with a sizzling in his ears. He felt as if in an alternate reality – the room refused to stand still and every sound and smell was blown out of proportion. The bed foot was the first thing his hand came across as he groped for support. With some effort and a great deal of vertigo, he pulled himself to a sitting position. His head moved slowly as he examined his surroundings. The candles, herbs and bowls were gone, but he was still in Buffy's room. Traces of her vanilla and mint scent lingered, despite the strong smell of blood from a dozen empty blood bags lying around him. A whiff revealed their origin – pig blood in a fancy package. Thanks to his heightened senses, he could tell Buffy was fine - her breathing was weaker than the other two in the room, but steady enough to mean she'd be okay.

He pushed the bags away as he tried to kneel, the crackling sound getting Willow's attention. "Wesley?"

"'Been called many things, Red, but that's a first."

"Spike!" She got out of the bed, trying her best not to disturb Buffy. Glancing back and forth from Spike getting up to Wesley sleeping on the armchair, Willow picked up something from the nightstand then moved to stand between the two. When Spike faced her, she clutched the object in her hand, and then stated. "Your eyes are blue."

"You used to be more observant." He closed his eyes and pressed two fingertips just above his temple. "What the hell is going on?"

When she didn't answer, he opened his eyes. Her defensive stance was made obvious by the metal cross in her right hand. It was the bloody why that remained a mystery. She was suspicious, that much was clear by her scrunched brows, but there was a tiny hint of fear in her eyes that he couldn't quite grasp.

As if it could mask her shaking, she asked defiantly. "Do you want to bite me?"

"Hell, no."

"Oh, okay." She lowered the cross. "That's good."

"Red." Spike insisted, even though his head begged for her to shut up and stop breathing so loud.

"You didn't look so good after the spell. I thought you might have lost your soul."

"Pretty sure I haven't. Had the worst nightmare of my life, though."

"You were hallucinating, Buffy's fine."

"I can hear her breathe." 'Cause that doesn't sound like a stalker at all, Spike. "Thanks for looking after her."

Willow crossed her arm over her body, her hand resting on her inner elbow. "She's my friend." Hastily, she added. "Not that I wouldn't do it for you if she wasn't and you needed it. You're a friend too."

He felt a sharp sting when he tried to smile. Leading a finger to his mouth, he asked "When did my lip split open?"

"Um, Angel showed." Her face held an apologetic look. Her face also held a nasty bruise. "Sorry, I tried to stop him…."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Spike stepped closer, his borrowed blood boiling in his veins. "That wanker did this to you? I'm gonna kill him."

"Oh no, I fell, face first. Clumsy old me." Spike looked over her expression, assessing whether she meant it. She misinterpreted the sudden attention and traced the wound lightly. "Does it look as bad as it hurts?"

He softened his gaze. "It's bruised, so put some ice to it. It'll go away after a few days."

"You mean after it goes through the purple, green and yellow stages." Willow grimaced, then winced, only to realize doing anything hurt.

On the armchair next to them, Wesley awoke with a light snore that incidentally happened to be his own. He blinked a couple of times, and then looked up to find Willow within Spike's biting range. He was on his feet so fast he almost lost his grip on the stake. "Spike, get away from her."

"It's okay, Wesley," Willow assured him, "He's ensouled."

"Oh." Wesley lowered the stake, and righted his clothes. "Very well, then."

Spike glanced at the Giles version from Angel's team. "What's Percy doing here?"

"Wesley?" Willow asked. "He helped, he was the one who thought you might be starving."

"He did, huh?" Spike slowly moved to stand before him, glancing at his pompous outfit. "What's with the sweater?"

Thrown out by the unexpected question, Wesley looked down. "It was chilly outside. Although I suppose I don't need it anymore."

"'Suppose you don't. Take it off."

"Excuse me?"

"Your sweater, take it off." Spike reached out a hand, waiting. "Don't worry, mate, I'll do you a favor and burn it later."

Wesley looked at Willow. "Are you sure he has his soul?"

She shrugged, giving him a half-smile. "Well, once a bully…"

A bright orange tone penetrated through Buffy's eyelids. Coupled with the heat, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine she'd fell asleep at the beach, though the angry voices and lack of salty smell told her a different story. When her eyes refused to open and she couldn't speak, she freaked out internally, a feeling that was soon toppled by overwhelming fatigue.

Before she knew it, the orange had subdued to a tone so close to black she only managed to tell them apart when a shadow briefly eclipsed the light. She could hear whispers, words spoken too low to distinguish yet loud enough to expose their familiar accents. Keeping her cool, she focused her momentary energy and moved her finger just an inch. The voices kept on going, her gesture concealed by the avalanche of covers on top of her.

Gentle hands moving her body got her conscious the next time. It was no longer dark, the bright orange tone had returned but from the wrong place. This time she didn't bother trying. Her previous efforts did nothing except add to her exhaustion, so she silently thanked whoever was carefully pouring liquid into her mouth. Her head was placed back on the pillow, and a click took the light away.

The next morning – and she knew it was morning because her eyes had decided to cooperate – a pungent smell inflamed her sinus. Nicotine. It made her want to sneeze and sigh with relief at the same time. The sigh won the battle, and she called softly. "Spike?"

"Try again, my darling."

A/N: Here's another chapter, folks! And I managed to keep the schedule this time, ha!

Many thanks to everyone who's reading and a huge thank you to Vivi H88, thephoenixandthedragon4ever and mom8828 for the reviews! Really, it's like winning a puppy for Christmas - many, many puppies. *-*

Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

BHS